


Book Club

by mischiefiswritten



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Romance, Oneshot, Set during the war, Tiny bit of Angst, before hydra, easy reader-insert really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefiswritten/pseuds/mischiefiswritten
Summary: A shared book is a shared experience. For Sgt. Barnes and a member of the Women’s Army Corps, a connection over a good book may be the path to something more. (Set during The First Avenger)





	Book Club

              It was _The Great Gatsby_ first. Then _Anna Karenina, Don Quixote, Little Women,_ and _Lord of the Flies_. Every time he laid eyes on her, she had a book in her hands. Any time she wasn’t working, that is.

              She was a hard worker if ever he’d seen one. It was enough that a young woman like her – or like he imagined she was – would give up an indefinite length of her life to come overseas, closer to the war than she had any necessity to be, to live on an army base surrounded by strange men. She was always bustling here and there, delivering orders, relaying information, maintaining the accuracy in maps, the list went on and on.

             He could only imagine what she was like because as of yet, he hadn’t figured out just how to talk to her. Even now she was typing furiously at a typewriter, keys clacking loudly enough to reach his ears across several yards of space. They said she had a college degree, and that she was an officer in the Women’s Army Corps.

             So she was smart, dedicated, and had a sense of duty. Normally he wouldn’t be intimidated by a girl like that. No. No, no, no, he wasn’t intimidated. That wouldn’t make any sense, of course not. He’d _spoken_ to her, but… He cringed at the memory.

             He’d only been on base four days when he saw her, reddish hair rolled prettily and lips slightly pursed in concentration. And since he was Bucky Barnes, he saw her, liked her, and walked right up to introduce himself.

            “Now what’s a dame like you doing here?” he’d said, trying out one of his best friendly-but-not- _too_ -friendly smiles.

             She looked up from the telegrams in her hand, blinking at him as if she was surprised he’d actually said that to her. When the confusion faded from her eyes, the blue took on a sharpness, and he realized his mistake.

            “Trying to win a war. What are you doing here?” Her tone wasn’t quite mirroring the sharpness in her eyes, but it was clearly mirroring the wit and self-assurance she was thinking he meant to patronize. This was a young woman who knew what she was about, and right now – she was certainly not about James Buchanan Barnes.

             He’d stepped on her toes, and he couldn’t backtrack quickly enough.

             “I’m Sergeant Barnes – ,” he’d said, “James.”

_James? Who the hell is James? Your name is Bucky._

“I’m Second Lieutenant Warren.” No first name, he’d noted. “Do you need something, Sergeant? We’re not all awaiting orders; some of us have them already.” She gestured to the papers and maps surrounding her. The crisp lines of her uniform made her obvious lack of amusement even starker.

            “Uh…” Bucky had trailed off. Where was his usual charm? He was usually so much quicker on his feet. “I don’t… No, I suppose I don’t.” _Wave that white flag, Barnes._

            “It was nice to meet you, Sergeant James Barnes,” Miss Warren had said, actually giving him a smile. It was genuine and pleasant, despite Bucky’s distinct impression that she was lying. He’d repeated the sentiment back to her and beat a hasty retreat.

           The moment he’d escaped out of her sight he visibly cringed, raking a hand through his hair. What an utter disaster.

           And he’d been haunted by that disaster ever since. And that was why, three weeks later, he was diving back into that particular battlefield. He straightened his spine and his uniform and trotted across the gravel roadway, preparing himself to be back under fire.

            _Clackclackclackclackclackclack – ding!_ The typewriter whirred as she moved to the next line. She was working in a tent, open to the air but kept cool by the shade. This time, he waited respectfully at what he considered closest to being a door, but she seemed too engrossed in her work to notice. That is, until a gust of wind sent an unweighted stack of her work scattering in every direction.

           With a little noise of distress, Second Lieutenant Warren gave chase. At the same time, Bucky dashed forward, managing to snag one page out of the air. The pair of them gathered papers from the grass and dirt until they crouched down to retrieve the same one and their knees bumped together. As she noticed him for the first time, he got to see the same faint surprise in her eyes as at their first meeting, but this time up close. The sweet, cornflower blue – and perhaps the prior humiliation made fresh – made him forget how to speak for a moment.

          “Sergeant… Barnes, isn’t it?” she ventured, rising in near synchronization with Bucky.

           He nodded. “James.” _AGAIN._

           She cleared her throat and diverted her gaze awkwardly to the ground, even though all the scattered papers had been collected.

           “I…” he sighed heavily, glancing down at the correspondence he held in his hands. He shuffled them until the edges aligned. “Look, Lieutenant, I wanted to apologize for that previous conversation. It was never my intention to patronize you, and I have no idea why I said what I said.”

            She met his eyes again, almost cautiously. He laughed a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle and rubbed one hand through his hair. “I really don’t know why I thought that was a good idea.”

           The barest beginnings of a smile started to tug at her lips. “I don’t know why either.”

           He couldn’t keep himself from grinning briefly when she didn’t immediately let him off the hook. “I’m usually smarter than that, I promise. Or, I hope so anyway. Regardless, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I respect what you’re doing here, serving your country.”

          When she treated him to a smile, it was thoughtful and maybe, he thought, a tad bashful. “If I’m here, doing this, that’s one more of our boys freed up to fight. And hopefully,” she said, “it’s just that much sooner that this war ends and everybody gets to come home.”

          Another gust of wind stirred her hair, and for a moment, everything else was quiet.

          They smiled at each other in silence until it stretched on just a little too long. Bucky coughed. “So, uh, do you have a paperweight or something for these?”

          “Oh! Yes, I’ll get something.” She started to turn back toward her desk, then twisted back around to Bucky. “Actually, could you hold onto these while I do?”

          “Yes, ma’am,” he answered easily, adding her stack to his and following behind her as she went to her desk, pulling out a drawer and searching through it. He noticed a copy of _Emma_ lying just a ways from the typewriter. A bookmark protruded from the pages, less than a quarter of the way from the end. “Is this a good one?” he asked, tapping the cover.

           Having retrieved the paperweight, she glanced over to see what he was talking about. She said, “I’ve enjoyed it so far, but a lot depends on the ending.”

          “I don’t know. A bad ending doesn’t always have to spoil a good story, does it?”

          She twisted her lips to the side while she considered it. “I suppose not, though you’ll always remember the sadness you felt when it ended the way it did.”

          “That’s when I just start the story over, personally,” he said as she tucked her work safely under the weight.

          “Good point. Thank you… James.” She added the name as an afterthought, and the fact that absolutely no one actually called him that made him smile wryly.

_One mistake at a time,_ he thought. “You’re welcome. Have a good day, Second Lieutenant Warren.”

           He’d already stepped out of the shade of the tent and back into the England sun when he heard her call out from behind him, “It’s Carolyn. Second Lieutenant Carolyn Warren.”

           He grinned over his shoulder as he replied, “Have a good day, Carolyn.”

           From that day onward, Carolyn acknowledged him every time they saw each other. She would wave across the camp to him, or say a bright, “Good morning, James,” when they passed. If he managed to catch her eye during morning drill, he would give her smile. Their gazes would linger on one another just longer than necessary, longer than mere acquaintances. They both wanted a reason to talk more to one another and something to talk about beyond the one time he’d stopped to tell her to call him Bucky. Perhaps it was the fact that the extent of their relationship included one blunder and one reconciliation – their second conversation had felt like a resolution.

           Like an ending.

           As that thought crossed his mind for the hundredth time, it finally clicked. It was an ending that he didn’t like.

           So he would restart the story.

           And when he saw her come back from town with a new copy of _Moby Dick_ in her hand, he knew exactly how to do it. He must have asked three dozen men in his regiment before he found one who had a copy of the same book, and then he stayed up half the night reading, hoping to catch up to whatever progress Carolyn must have made.

           It was after dinner one day when they were both free for the rest of the evening that he happened upon her, seated on a low retaining wall with her nose in the pages of Herman Melville’s prose. (He’d “happened” upon her, fortuitously having his copy with him, after roaming the base for several minutes hoping for just that.)

          “Call me Ishmael,” he said as he approached.

          There was no surprise on her face this time, only a luminous smile. He pretended not to be pleased at how immediately she recognized his voice.

          “First you can’t decide whether you want me to call you James or Bucky, and now you want to be called Ishmael?” She smirked “You really ought to make up your mind.”

          “Indecision is one of my few flaws. I’ve learned to live with it,” he said and settled beside her. He held his book on his lap so she could see.

          “You’re reading _Moby Dick_ too? How many pages in are you?”

          “Only about ninety. I just started.”

          “Me too! Are you liking it so far?” Truth be told, he wasn’t liking it any more now than he had in Ms. Ledbeddor’s high school English class, but he nodded anyway. As a matter of fact, he didn’t think he’d read all that much of it back then, so perhaps he _would_ actually enjoy it. They talked about everything they’d read so far – the good, the bad, the ugly. Carolyn wove a beautiful fabric of thought out of complex themes and philosophical ideas, and Bucky found himself utterly trapped in it. He listened more intently than he’d ever listened to a lecture in school.

         Their conversation had diverted to numerous other novels by the time they realized it was completely dark out. They were ensconced in a cone of yellowy fluorescent light from the streetlight under which they were seated. A comfortable silence draped itself around the pair, and once again, it seemed as though the world quieted itself just for them.

         After they both rose, telling each other they’d better say goodnight, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Carolyn, I’ve got to tell you – the way you talk about literature is special. You’re so passionate and thoughtful that you make me feel passionate about it. And I was not the best English student.”

         Her blush, captured even by the harsh artificial light, made his own cheeks heat up. He hadn’t meant to say that, but judging by her bashful smile, it hadn’t been a mistake.

       “Thank you. I’ve had a really good time, so… if you ever want to hear me ramble more, I’d be more than happy to oblige. We have to keep up with each other’s progress through _Moby Dick_ , after all.”

       “Like a book club.”

       Her face lit up even more, outshining the wattage of the streetlamp overhead.

      “Exactly like a book club,” she said, “So – I’ll see you at the next meeting then.”

       And she did. They met three more times before they’d finished _Moby Dick_ , and then they promptly started _A Tale of Two Cities._ They made quick work of _The Call of the Wild_ , but reading _Gone with the Wind_ demanded that Bucky take her out to a theater two towns over that was showing the film. Soon they started scheduling book club meetings during dinner, and conversation expanded to much more than just books. They talked about their homes, their friends, their families, what led to them enlisting, life on an army base. Everything under the sun.

      Their every get-together was comfortable. It was effortless and free in a way Bucky couldn’t remember any girl’s company being before. He hoped she felt the same about him.

      They sat side by side, heads bent together over one copy as they discussed a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories they’d just begun, throwing out theories about the solution to the caper. Their shoulders brushed ever so slightly, and their knees bumped together now and again. Carolyn glanced up at him after they did, peering sideways through her lashes and giving him a sweet, natural smile before she looked back to the pages. Bucky slid his foot to the left until it was pressed against the side of hers.

      She pressed back. But her eyes stayed fixed on the book in front of her. Her smile betrayed her, even as she visibly fought it – to say nothing of the girlish pink tinting her cheeks. His own gaze was locked on her face. He couldn’t have looked away if it would’ve saved his life.

      He opened his mouth to speak, having no idea what he was going to say. And in that same moment another member of the Women’s Army Corps walked up and tapped Carolyn on the shoulder. Neither of them had noticed the woman approaching – they’d been too wrapped up in each other.

      In that flirtation that had seemed so much like a question and an answer.

      The woman passed a large manila envelope to Carolyn, who opened it at a careful angle to ensure Bucky was unable to read the contents. She looked it over quietly before nodding to the woman, and the woman left as Carolyn thoughtfully slid the papers back into the envelope and sealed it up again.

     “Something you need to take care of?”

      “Not right away, no,” she said with a touch of something unidentifiable in her voice. It was probably conceited of him to guess she was as disappointed with the way their spell had be unceremoniously broken. _Damn the war for interfering._

      ”Another one of those secrets, huh?” It wasn’t the first time she’d received some clandestine communication in his presence, and on a number of occasions when he’d approached her as she was working, she’d covered a map or telegram or two. Once she’d even caught him on his way into the office where she was working and made him wait at the door until she’d hidden away whatever was classified beyond his paygrade – which left a wide realm of possibilities.

      Her witty, sweet blue eyes were alight, but they betrayed nothing.

      He leaned in close and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial volume. “You’re not one of those code girls, are you?” His eyes twinkled with his joke as he smiled.

      She pressed her lips together as she suppressed her own smile. “You know I couldn’t tell you if I were. So _perhaps,_ ” she thumped him once on the chest with the book which had been all but forgotten, “you ought to leave the intrigue to the professionals, Detective Barnes.”

       That made him laugh, and before he caught himself, he was already thinking how much better this all would be once the war ended. No orders, no secrets, easier schedules, no gloom of death and tragedy hanging over them. They would be at home in their own country, in real towns rather than an army base. No one would call on him to leave and perhaps never come back. And he would be an even happier man.

       But the picture he painted had her in it. And he realized, feeling rather foolish, that the war was the only thing keeping them in the same place. They didn’t even live in the same state back home. When the war ended, there would be no more book club.

       And that wouldn’t be an ending he liked.

       This had been easy; this had been fun. But they’d need something more than a novel in common to bind them together, so he said, “Why don’t you come out with me tomorrow night? To the Juniper?”

        Carolyn seemed taken aback. The Juniper was a club in the closest village that had surprisingly good jazz and swing bands and a steady stream of soldiers as patrons. “That’s… a little bit loud for book club.”

          “That’s true, but it’s the perfect volume for dancing.”

           Since their disastrous first meeting, he’d strictly prohibited all intentional charm on his part. He’d never tried another line on her, and he hadn’t suggested anything that was so clearly a date. He couldn’t blame her for testing the waters – she probably wasn’t sure he still felt any interest.

           He held his breath until she asked, “What time?”

* * *

 

          And he felt like he was still holding his breath when he saw her. The color of her dress made the color of her eyes so striking it was as though her gaze was a physical touch. There was a big band playing on the stage, but the music disappeared the second she walked into the dimly lit room. The world, as usual, grew quiet while he fell a little more in love with her.

          He hardly felt his own footsteps as he drifted through the other patrons to join her. When was the last time he’d seen a woman – seen _anything_ – so beautiful?

          The moment she said his name, he knew the answer was never.

         “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, tapping the earpiece of a phantom headset, “There was an important message that came in just as I meant to be leaving.”

         “Don’t worry about it, doll. You’re well worth the wait.”

         She took his hand when he offered it, and they talked over drinks at the bar until the band started up a big swing number that had both of them looking toward the dance floor. Carolyn pulled Bucky from his seat with both hands, saying, “Come on, soldier. I believe you mentioned dancing when you invited me here.”

        They danced to song after song, finding their skills to be a good match for the other’s. Other couples eddied on and off of the dance floor, but they stayed caught in each other’s currents. From one side of the floor to the other, the tide created by the music, the motion, and the sunny feeling between them kept them trapped. Neither had any idea how much time had passed by the time they collapsed at a table, breathless and with aching feet.

       They were sitting close to each other, enough that one of Bucky’s feet was between hers and his hand nearly brushed her shoulder as he rested his arm across the back of her chair. Her cheeks were flushed, and the club’s lights cast her in an almost ethereal glow. They drifted together until their breath shared the same space.

      “You’re not buzzed or anything, are you?” Bucky murmured.

      “What?” She twitched back in surprise. “No, why would – “

      “Good,” he interrupted, placing a hand on the nape of her neck. In the next second, his lips were on hers. Intent, patient, sweet.

      There was a heartbeat’s length of time in which she was still – and he was terrified – but when she began to return the kiss, it was as purposeful as every word she’d ever spoken to him.

      They pulled away enough to take in each other’s expressions, both feeling a little giddy, like anyone experiencing new love should be. “I, um…,” she cleared her throat, looking slightly bashful, “I might be a little bit now.”

      Bucky only managed to keep from asking her to go steady with him for a week. She said yes, and sometime later, when his regiment had received their marching orders, she was there, tucking into his uniform pocket his favorite photos from the photo booth at the fair. And he was stealing last kisses, and joking that they’d finish their current read more quickly without the other around to distract them. He beamed over his shoulder at her after their final farewell, thinking of how much he’d fallen in love with her.

_And I’ll tell her as soon as I get back._

* * *

 

      Her heart was heavy with the number of letters she’d typed beginning with, ‘ _I regret to inform you_ …’ They were so overrun with casualties to report that the usual staff couldn’t keep up with all the families that needed to be informed. List after list came in from the front.

    Name after name. Son after son who wouldn’t see another Christmas or birthday.

    “Carolyn, there’s a fresh stack of notices here. The 107th, out of Austria.” Another aide bustled by, dropping the abhorrently thick sheaf near Carolyn’s typewriter. At first, she was so absorbed in the macabre task before her that she hardly even heard, but when it hit her, it sucked the air from her lungs and stilled her heart in her chest.

_Sergeant Barnes of the 107 th. _The man whose picture was keeping her place in _Jane Eyre._

    She murmured an excuse to no one in particular, saying she’d be right back before taking the casualty records from the typing pool and going outside. The less stagnant air did nothing to ease the painful tightness in her chest. Her pulse roared in her ears, even over the din of typewriter keys – like gunfire – in the background.

    Her field of vision narrowed to only the pages in front of her as she scanned desperately for his name – something made more difficult by the trembling of her hands. Nausea rolled like sea billows in her gut.

    For some reason, with every name she passed, every soldier dead, accounted for, or lost, a book title came to mind. Something she’d read with Bucky, some experience they’d shared.

_The Call of the Wild. Gone with the Wind. The Hounds of the Baskervilles. A Study in Scarlet. A Tale of Two Cities. Moby Dick……_

                Sargent James Buchanan Barnes – missing in action.

 

                Presumed dead.


End file.
